remember
by everyshadedsilver
Summary: [one shot] of an aged Leo Valdez looking back on the lives of his friends. melancholy. i wrote it in the heat of the moment. read it, or don't. i don't mind either one.


_Remember, a one shot_

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"Wait, you knew her? Personally?"

"I knew all of them," he murmured. "A long time ago, though." He lifted his dark eyes, studying the child's face. "A time before your parents'."

The child positioned himself on the carpet, his own eyes brightening. He shook his brown curls from his face. "What were they like?"

The old man leaned back, and a crumpled copy of a smile pulled at his lips. His hair was no longer the dark wild curls of fire. Now it was firm gray wisps that grew wherever they could. His light brown skin was weathered with age- and grief. But his eyes were the same. And he remembered what they were like. He tried to.

He remembered _Hazel Levesque_, the slip girl who was barely of age. The kind, sweet girl forced to live in a time that was not her own. Forced to overcome the haunting of the prejudices of her first life. The girl with the eyes of tainted gold and wealth, cursed to bring forth a wrath upon those who ever obtained it. Wrath veiled as accidents, misfortunes. Wrath never before seen.

The girl with the remarkable ability to bend reality as she saw fit. She was able to make a treacherous blade appear as a mere crayon. She turned arrows into birds, cliffs that hung over the edge of death into fields of lilies. She was the siren without a song. The siren who lured all who dared oppose her to their brutal ruin.

He remembered _Frank Zhang_, the praetor of the Roman army. The shy, bumbling boy turned blessed force of war. The boy whose entire life depended on that of a charred scrap of wood. The boy forced to endure the critical objections by that of his own family, forced to teach himself that he was indeed worthy.

With the ancestry of the waters flowing through his veins, he was able to become any beast he wished to. A moment left unchecked in battle and the warrior was replaced with a bear. He could not drown; he would turn to a fish if any fool tried. He could not burn. He soared across the heavens with the sole instinct to attack all who opposed him. But he was kind. Oh, so kind. And that was what his enemies feared in him most.

He remembered _Piper McLean_, the unpredictable slight with danger coursing through her words. Beautiful danger, _precious_ danger. Danger that was left to be wanted. She was just a girl who wanted the love and attention of her father. And she was the girl with the enchanting eyes and charmed voice that led millions to fall upon their swords. Her words carried the conviction of a thousand gods.

She had the unmistakable virtue of finding love in all things- even things impure. She was the siren of the land, the fierce fighter that defended her own with the power of the tongue.

He remembered _Jason Grace,_ the former praetor of a lost legion. The boy with lightning coursing through his veins and harsh winds bending at the will of his fingers. The boy with the jagged scar across his lip with the ability to topple thrones and command the heavens to do his bidding. He was the thunder that shook the earth, the force of electricity that struck and brought deadly fires across miles of dry grass and armies.

He was the boy forced to live in a life that was never his own. The boy who from childhood was destined to lead. The boy who would sacrifice himself for his comrades if it meant giving them a slim chance. The boy who learned to love the place that had been enemy territory for him from birth.

He remembered _Nico di Angelo,_ the boy forced to outlive his own time. The once joyful child, turned to the pale ghost of whom he once was. The boy who had to fight gods in order to be true to himself, cursed to love a man who would never be his. Cursed to love a sister who had deserted him before her untimely death.

He was the King of Ghosts. He had the remarkable ability to raise legions of the deceased to battle. Hundreds of soldiers who could never die a second time obeyed his every command. His sword of onyx iron heralded only defeat for those who opposed him. A flick of his wrist could tip the scales. He was death incarnate. Every enemy soldier that fell on the battlefield was doomed to serve him. His reign knew no bounds, it _had_ no bounds.

He remembered _Percy Jackson_, the hero of the Fifth Age. The boy who had been forced time and time again to fight battles for those who did not care to prevent them. The boy with the raging sea behind his eyes, who was fiercely loyal to all he loved. The boy who feared for his life for years, terrified that he would bring the onslaught of Armageddon upon his family.

He was every sharp wave that crashed against the shoreline. He had the untimely ability to wrap himself in storms and winds that brought skyscrapers and beasts alike to their knees. A flick of his hand could reduce an entire legion to piles of dust. His sword avenged hundreds. A tug in his gut could haul an entire ocean across the continent. He was the communicator with those who breathed water. He was the advocate of the unheard. He was the warning that commanders gave to their lieutenants, to their armies.

And lastly, he remembered _Annabeth Chase._ She was the girl who forced herself to leave her comfort. The girl who sought only a family, but was betrayed and abandoned instead. She was the girl who spent her young days waiting- waiting for the one who would free her from her entrapment and launch her into the life that she knew she was destined for.

Her eyes, so gray and treacherous, had the ability to see the future. She always had a plan. Her battle strategies never failed. Her ideas brought armies of teenagers to victory. She _was_ victory. She was able to foretell every outcome, always prepared to slash her knife to anyone who opposed her. She crawled the pits of Hell with broken bones and nothing to fuel her but the fire in her stomach and the love of her life.

She was wisdom incarnate. She was battle brought to life. She was what the gods feared most, the one that they were grateful to have on their side.

The old man leaned forward, his smile falling from its good graces. He didn't remember himself, _Leo Valdez._ The boy blamed for the death of his mother, demonized from birth, with the ability to set fire to whole cities. Flames burst and waned at his wish, heat was his comfort. He didn't remember the outsider in himself, who found love when he needed it most. "What were they like?"

The little boy before him nodded eagerly.

His smile was sad. "They were going to change the world."

And around them, the world burned.

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**A/N:**

**So I saw a prompt on Google and it inspired me to write this. The words just... flowed through me.**

**I hope you guys enjoyed :)**

**~ everyshadedsilver**


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